


Lifegiver

by lovi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Kissing, Love, M/M, NOT THAT THE IMAGERY ITSELF IS INTENSE, Physical Trauma, Sort Of, Touch, Trauma, UHMMMMMMMM, and its relation to life, death mentions, okay I hope you enjoy hehe, okay now for some of the sad stuff, really intense body imagery, this fic just almost entirely centers around the body, towards the end???, uhmmmm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26433049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovi/pseuds/lovi
Summary: Hinata Shoyo is born with a secret that will most likely kill him.//Hinata navigating his life with Kageyama Tobio
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 24
Kudos: 82





	Lifegiver

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO THIS ONE IS VERY DIFFERENT FROM MY LAST FIC..... for starters, it's longer but only took 2 days to write....... my last one took over a month. do with that what you will lmao this one just set me on fire
> 
> I poured an ungodly amount of emotional and personal trauma into this one so ya better eat the FUCK UP!!!!!!!!!
> 
> but in all seriousness, this one was really intense. shot out of me like a firework this all happened so fast, I really hope you guys enjoy this one :,) sending love to you wherever you are

Hinata Shoyo was born a loud secret, in the back room of his mother’s house with little supervision; arriving into the world as a firecracker, all red and full of energy and life. The red flew into his hair as it grew from his scalp, the fire into the sharp edges of his teeth as they dropped first from his gums and then eventually into his own hands, one by one. His tapping feet, a small body hardly able to contain its own energy as he stood up against the doorframe, hoping to be just one centimeter taller than last time.

The freckles that splattered out across his chest; he was never permitted to show the swirl of patterns and designs his mother never could’ve imagined on her own. The small beads strung on a wiggly line of red washable marker in the safety of his own kitchen, tiles cool on his back in the middle of July as the washing machine hummed and shook in the other room and the marker rolled uncapped from his small hand onto the kitchen floor. The thicker fabrics, stretching their stitching and holding them up to the light in the department store changing room. The pool shirts, the strong tan lines wrapped tight around the middle of his biceps that remained nearly all year.

Late at night Hinata would lay in bed with his mother, duvet draped over them like the night sky over the earth below, nearly falling asleep as her finger traced soft over the pearly lights scattered across his skin; decadent as the stars in the sky, their gentle and youthful glow illuminating the white fabric hung over the great height of his mother’s knees. These were the moments she would whisper sweet things, soft and kind: that deep in his chest lived an entire galaxy, a beautiful secret he could never tell, but could learn to love. Sweet kisses and whispers of love peppered over his forehead and cheeks, light giggles falling from his lips as she left the warmth of the blanket, pulling it down just past Hinata’s chin and planting one last kiss over his small smile before leaving the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

These were the simplicities of childhood Hinata clung to, the warmth of that July’s sun tanning his skin more than it ever had in the past. Hours spent outside: riding his bike up their small, pothole-ridden street; the sidewalk a far bumpier option, concrete tiles overthrown by wild roots, tips of sneakers caught on gravelly edges. Flowers lining the edges of each house, always making it easy for Hinata to get back home: the order always being red, yellow, pink, purple, and finally orange at the front of his own small yard. This was the July that a small patch of blue showed up beside the mailbox nextdoor, the worn knuckles of a large fist gently colliding with the faded wood of their own front door.

Kageyama Tobio: the small, quiet kid whose family was new to the neighborhood, whose grandfather made it a goal to find him friends before school started in September. Kageyama was shy, Kageyama was gentle and didn’t talk much at first; eyes always looking at something in interest, little gears always turning within that little skull of his.

Hinata loved him.

From that summer onward, they only grew closer; virtually living outside during the day, only coming inside for lunch and dinner. Always running down the street somewhere, giggling and sharing everything, from popsicles to scraped knees to rocks and twigs.

Hinata remembers the night he nearly shared his secret; that warm summer night when he was barely 10 years old, as they sat in the neighborhood treehouse, talking about school and games and everything they were interested in. The air hung thick and humid and heavy and Hinata wanted nothing more than to take off his shirt for just a moment, the sweat dripping down his back and clinging to his upper lip, reddening his cheeks like the sunburn he’d never get. He played with the thick hem of his shirt as Kageyama talked about bugs and trains and why his favorite color was blue, but orange was just as beautiful to him; fidgeting until his mother’s words buzzed back into his mind like the mosquito that just wouldn’t leave him be: he held back, sucked it up. The fireflies floated in the trees around them, quiet and knowing.

But he could’ve said something. And he nearly had, because Kageyama was different, he could just tell. Kageyama was his best friend. He remembers his mother’s stern words that night and moving forward, the delicate shift in her language: no longer just a “beautiful secret” but a dangerous one, one that could get him in trouble. One that could get him hurt if he didn’t keep out of harm’s way, and how Kageyama was no exception. How people wouldn’t even know they were hurting him, and never truly would. Hinata didn’t quite understand but didn’t need to: he vowed to take these words to the grave, swearing secrecy over his own body, that the light of the stars within him would always remain hidden.

Elementary school finished and middle school came and went in a strange blend of growth and insecurity, spikes of strong feelings mixed with plateaus of dull absence. High school entered like a rocket, nearly knocking Hinata off his feet with the torrent of assignments and deadlines and duties, a brain built for navigating chaos attempting to section itself off into an ice tray. He found himself constantly looking forward to seeing Kageyama after school; sitting next to him on the bus, walking home with him from the station. Hinata knew to give Kageyama his quiet contemplation on the bus ride, earbuds buried deep into the shell of his ears as his eyes followed the scenery moving by outside the rickety glass pane of the emergency exit window; sometimes even dozing off, Hinata always waking him at the stop before their own so he had time to get accustomed to his surroundings again. Kageyama always knew just how to listen to Hinata on their walk back down the streets of the neighborhood towards their houses, music and headphones now buried deep within his backpack as his eyes followed Hinata’s bouncing figure with genuine interest. It could set Hinata on fire, the way Kageyama’s eyes were strung to him as though he couldn’t look away—or rather, didn’t want to. It made Hinata feel special, made him feel somewhat seen for once.

And then there was the New Year’s Eve party of his second year, the invitation entering Hinata’s life like a soft comfort in the ever-thinning atmosphere of late December’s strange, impermanent warmth. Hinata threw on his most loved thick sweater, his only physical representation of his father. He beamed in the mirror at just how appropriately he was dressed, just how charming he looked before disappearing out the front door in a blur of cheek kisses and “I’ll be careful, I promise; I love you; I won’t be out too late.”

He entered the host’s house and was immediately met with a gust of warmth, the rich yellow hues of conversation and laughter hanging thick in the air, nearly gripping his lungs as he transitioned out of the thin sharpness of the winter evening outside. He kicked off his shoes and politely lined them up against the wall, taking off his jacket, hat and scarf and hanging them up on a coathanger in the hallway. There really was a decent number of people there; mostly people he didn’t know, but a few familiar faces here and there—out in the middle of the crowd stood Kageyama, tall and turtleneck-clad in all his awkward teenage glory, apathetically attempting to keep up in a conversation he clearly wasn’t invested in. Kageyama looked up and his features melted into a soft smile when his eyes met Hinata’s, a smile that warmed up the inside of Hinata’s chest more than any warm hallway ever could. They slowly made their way over to eachother as they socialized with others here and there, Hinata making the rounds to everyone he knew before he got wrapped up in conversation with his best friend. Soon they stood in the middle, nearly chest-to-chest with the large amount of people crammed into such a small space.

“Hi.” Kageyama’s warm smile stretched across his face, slightly buzzier than he normally would’ve been, comfortable and drunk off the body heat of the people around him. Hinata giggled and looked up at him, a flash of teeth peeking out from between chapped lips.

“Hey.” Talk ensued as usual, and everything felt warm and comfortable and familiar, the rich yellow hues of conversation caramelizing into a warm, golden orange. It was as if they were attached at the hip to the point they were nearly unnoticeable, blending into the background of the warm social atmosphere like stars plastered across the deep of the night sky. So much so that someone mistakenly bumped into Hinata as they shimmied through the crowd of people, accidentally spilled the majority of their punch over his sweater, dark red invading light beige. The stranger freaked out, apologizing and offering to pay for any damage done, but Hinata just smiled and laughed it off, waving the fingers of his hand in amity.

“Don’t even worry about it. Accidents happen, and this is just another one.” With Hinata’s words, the stranger eased up and apologized once more before catching up with her friends, who were standing around in the kitchen. Kageyama’s eyes followed her and then drifted back, settling on Hinata’s sweater as though amazed by the change in color. Then the chuckle escaped his lips and Hinata pouted, but failed to keep his own smile from rising to the surface of his features.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up,” Kageyama spoke soft and gentle and Hinata nodded, letting Kageyama’s hand wrap around his wrist as he pulled him through the crowd, smaller footsteps stumbling sure and honest behind Kageyama’s large yet insecure ones. They found the bathroom nestled in the back hallway and crowded into it, Hinata closing and locking the door behind them while Kageyama dug through the skinny bathroom closet, finally retreating with a well-used bottle of laundry detergent in his left hand. He turned to Hinata, unscrewing the cap and peering down into the bottle as he swished the liquid around, trying to get a feel for how much was left.

“I’m going to rub this into the stain and let it sit.” He screwed the cap back on and turned the bottle to read the label on the back, illuminated only by the moonlight from the small window to his back. “I’m wearing two layers so just have my sweatshirt, it’s not like it’ll be hard to get it back.” He lightly chuckled, settling the detergent down in the small sink. Everything suddenly felt very crowded and all too close as Hinata realized that _I have to take my sweater off_. Kageyama felt too close and the sink felt too close and he stayed seated on the bathroom floor, hands tucking his knees up safely into his chest as he played with the frayed edges of his sweater sleeves, worn by time and use.

“I can’t.” The words leaking out of him almost like a child’s disappointment, the sad _I have to go in for dinner_ peppered throughout their childhood, the cleansing sting of antiseptic wash on a skinned knee. Kageyama dropped his hand to his side and looked down at Hinata, confusion leaking into his features, knitting his brow.

“Why not?” Soft and quiet.

“I just don’t want to; I don’t like it, changing clothes.” Hinata blurted out, his nerves overriding his thoughts and mincing his words. He wasn’t thinking and he couldn’t exist that way if he wanted to stay safe: his mother always told him to “think before you speak, or it’ll all happen too fast and too late.” Kageyama could see the hesitance in Hinata’s eyes and felt a mild flare of annoyance at his immaturity before smothering it, crouching down so that he was at eye level, balancing on the balls of his feet and hanging off the edge of the sink by his fingertips to steady himself. He put his hand on Hinata’s shoulder and locked eyes with him when he looked up, lowering the volume of his voice, vowels smoothed over and outlined by gentle consonants.

“Your sweater’s gonna stain; I’ll turn around, I won’t look.” Hinata could feel a lump in his throat, stuck between a rock and a hard place: the frustrating, forced distrust of everyone he knew and the fear of ruining his sweater, the last possession he owned that was once his father’s. He nodded and Kageyama turned so he was facing the wall, the moon casting pale light, glossy over the top of his dark head of hair. Hinata turned to face the bathroom door just in case, wiping away a small tear that fell from his eye despite the lack of sobbing, the lack of crying even: this was the closest he ever had and most likely ever would come to any form of intimacy. He lifted his sweater up over his head and watched as the glow emanated from his chest onto the dark of the bathroom door, small palms desperately scrambling to cover up the light. Everything felt like too much, the air too hard to breathe into the small space his lungs provided. He could hear the soft rustle of Kageyama’s clothes from behind him, and when Kageyama turned around just a hint too early to hand Hinata his sweatshirt, Hinata freaked out.

“Turn around turn around turn around!!!” Hinata’s hands protectively reached up to cover at more of his chest, heart thudding like a rock in his pocket. Kageyama turned back around to face the wall and huffed in mild annoyance.

“Why are you so adamant about me not looking at you?” His voice was still mostly soft, but with a sharpened edge now that wasn’t there before. Hinata’s voice was wavering and unsteady as he reached behind him, grabbing the sweatshirt from Kageyama’s hand, stained sweater strewed across the bathroom tiles like a forgotten toy.

“Because I’m self-conscious.” Finally able to formulate his words, the phrase he had always prepared to use in these situations. Kageyama scoffed, feeling mildly annoyed.

“That’s it? We’re best friends, why can’t you just—”

“Tobio, please, I just _can’t_ , okay?”

“—trust me? I’ve known you for years, you have nothing to hide—”

“YOU DON’T KNOW ME!!!” Hinata snapped, clutching the sweatshirt to his chest, completely smothering the light. Kageyama was silent, and Hinata swallowed around a dry throat. “You don’t know me. So please, Kageyama, for the love of god, just shut up!” Tears started falling form his eyes and he forgot how to sniffle them back up, unable to shut off the faucet. This was just too much, he wanted them out of his body.

Kageyama was still quiet. Hinata felt the sudden weight of guilt pressing down on his chest, weighing heavy on his shoulders. The apology squeaked out of him like a plea.

“Tobio, I’m sorry, I—” Kageyama stood up, putting the detergent down on the ground beside Hinata as he walked past him to the door, pausing as his hand sat on the doorknob. Hinata’s eyes were glued to his face, at this point just _begging_ him to turn around, to look at him—anything. Instead Kageyama focused on his own hand, laid over the old doorknob, fingers smaller than Hinata had remembered.

“I’m moving to Tokyo this summer, my grandfather’s ill and I have to move in with my sister.” The stone in Hinata’s chest lost its energy and sunk deep, deep down, emptying him on its way. Kageyama paused as though he were about to say something and then he finally turned around, eyes sad and weary as he looked down at Hinata, something sharpening in him when he noticed the redness in his eyes, the tears scattered over his cheeks and over the fabric of his own sweatshirt, crumpled up against his chest. This sharpened bit poked into his heart like a pin in the pocket.

“I’ll see you around.” His words were heavy, bogged down with weight like a wet washcloth, slapped across Hinata’s face with a cold sting. Kageyama opened the door and the warm yellow light poured in—he could hear people counting down, laughter and conversation—and then the door closed behind him, not quite loud or quiet, just forgotten as it shut the warmth out with its panels. Hinata sat in the soundless room on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, skin dressed by moonlight, sweatshirt still pressed tight into his chest; just another grim reminder of a person who had left, another lifeless fabric to cover his life like a blindfold over the eyes of the ones he loved.

Hinata was crying as the New Year struck.

\- - - 

Things were never the same after that night; now this unspoken rift hung between them like a plexiglass frame. They sat on opposite sides of the bus and Kageyama purposefully took a different route home to avoid walking with Hinata. The quiet meditation of early January had morphed into an empty unavoidability, and winter passed both slow and fast; as though Hinata were stuck in a perpetual waiting room, expecting bad news but receiving nothing.

Hinata remembers the night his mother asked him why she hadn’t seen much of Kageyama lately and he broke down in front of her; his little sister fast asleep in the back of the house, the flicker of the light over their kitchen table stuttering in his temples like a secondary heartbeat. The night she finally explained why he could never show his marks to anyone, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, thumb rubbing lovingly into the muscle. Quiet words spoken simply on complex subjects, no longer dancing around things that would’ve been too difficult to comprehend long ago.

They weren’t just marks, they were a true galaxy, undiscovered somewhere up above: and all these grand things he had trouble wrapping his head around, were him. All of it was him.

“If anyone ever discovers the location of this galaxy and renames this part of you as something else,” His mother reached her hand up to trace over his own chest, fingers older than before, voice weary and kind. “You will no longer exist. These are things you have to know, now that you’re old enough to know them.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “People will turn you in to the authorities because they believe they’re doing the right thing. If someone hands you in, they _will_ locate your galaxy and they _will_ name it. You will die.”

Hinata was going to have a nervous breakdown. He needed to go on a drive, now. His mother understood in a way that felt all too familiar, handing him the keys to the family car, and Hinata left out of the front door of their house, hopping in the car and immediately driving to the nearest open road.

First he was nervous, and his heart was pumping blood LOUD into his chest and he could feel every inch of his body as if small insects were crawling right beneath the skin. He suddenly felt so aware of the fact that he was _something else_ and _not himself_ that his self-awareness nearly flipped onto the other side of the same page, into an out-of-body experience. Everything felt like too much and reality poured itself like molten glass over him until it all hardened and he suddenly felt trapped beneath the weight of his own existence. Sad and confused; “Why me?” plastered to the front of his brain like a label he never asked for, tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes until his chest was heaving and he really, _really_ needed water but forgot to bring any.

And when his hiccups melted into little grunts and growls, he knew it was coming. He opened up all the windows of their car and clenched his fists on the wheel and just SCREAMED, yelling and nearly bawling again and then yelling some more: _it’s all your fault!!!_ FUCK being “old enough”: Hinata thought about his childhood innocence and wonder and craved it, craved the bruised knees and blanket forts, craved the rattle of his dysfunctional bike chain and the _red, yellow, pink, purple_ : the orange at the foot of his house and the flash of blue in the corner of his eye as he slung his bike over the damaged curb; Kageyama. Where was Kageyama? And a little part of that energy leftover from childhood ripped through his lungs like a dagger, tearing his throat and exiting his body up into the sky. If there was a god, Hinata hoped it struck him like an arrow to the heart because _no one will ever truly know me. Not just this part of me in its physical form, but me in my actual essence: NO ONE will ever be allowed to KNOW ME._ And he cried again as the March wind from the car windows stung his skin, drying each salty tear off his cheekbones as soon as they fell.

\- - - 

Spring was short but summer was long and Kageyama left just as he came, little to no words spoken in the heat of late July. A new family moved in within the week, the well-pruned blue flowers remaining at the edge of the mailbox; but in Hinata’s mind, that house was always empty. Hinata entered his third year with an even smaller desire to trust than he had the years before, always keeping his friends an arm’s length away from his emotions; and when he graduated, he slunk into an affordable college nearby, unsure of what he wanted.

It was in college, however, that happiness slightly leaked its way back into his life. It began on that one day when the air was crisp with the aftermath of an autumn rain, the worn soles of his sneakers slightly sliding over the wet concrete of the campus sidewalk. He received a call from his mother and nearly dropped his phone because _they finally developed a medication._ He was coming back home that weekend and immediately heading over to their family doctor, who handed him a small bottle of pills: “Each pill is exactly 24 hours-worth of coverage, so plan accordingly.”

Hinata did. He took one pill, every night around 11 pm. He still had to be careful not to expose his oddly-shaped freckles by the light of day, but he no longer had to worry about the strange glow emanating from them in the dark of night: no more thick-threaded t-shirts, no more worrying about what others may see shining through the cold obscurity of moonlit bathrooms.

College sped by in a blur of social outings and get-togethers, of trying to study late at night and learning that he also had a thing called ADHD that made things a lot more difficult. Kissing lots of different people, but never letting it go far enough to remove any clothing. Hinata was very sure of this: all the precaution that abandoned the reckless areas of his life flooded into his body like a sharp tide of nerves, singeing the skin like hot oil. He was always on guard when it came to his body— _always_.

Graduation was strange and beautiful all at once; he was surrounded by family and friends all day and night. When he flopped down on his bed—finally home for longer than a few weeks for the first time in years—he couldn’t help but ponder the nostalgia he felt for this neighbourhood of his and how intricately woven it was with emptiness. Everything felt smaller now; the street that much shorter, the curb that much lower to the ground. All the bumps in the sidewalk that once felt monstrous and unavoidable now seemed all too easy to evade; he only made it halfway up the ladder of the neighbourhood treehouse before he feared he would permanently damage something.

But no matter how many years it had been, the house nextdoor always felt empty. Their neighbours, once toddlers when first moving in, were now the age of true exploration, of hide and seek and sports and bike races down the steep hill up the street. Hinata felt ill when he saw them, when he saw the little blue flowers at the mailbox, overgrown and unkempt. He needed to get out.

He managed to find a well-paying job at an ad agency in Tokyo a few months later, working in Media. It wasn’t anything special or shiny, but was a good start and would pay the bills if he lived a little further outside the city. It was all kisses goodbye and sweet whisperings of love from his mother, his little sister begging to visit and “camp out”, Shoyo laughing and rustling her hair. Moving into a fresh apartment, spending the first night sleeping on his unclothed mattress, on the floor amongst towers of boxes; too tired to dig up his bedsheets.

It was about a 25-minute commute into Tokyo and a 5-10 minute walk to his office building, depending on the foot traffic. Their office was BIG and it took him several flights up on the elevator to his destination. He had his own little cubicle and was even a little excited at first; decorating the space to suit his own tastes, letting it reflect what made him relax to help minimize the stress of the day.

It worked for about two weeks, and after three weeks he was already beginning to slip out of focus. He could feel the weeks slipping through his fingers, living only for the weekends, time moving both too slow to be enjoyable and too fast to hold on to. It was a little over a month into work that he received a memo on his desk asking him to work overtime for two nights the next week, to bite the bullet as a newcomer and help out. Hinata took it but did not look forward to it—dreaded it, actually, as his nights were his time that he usually spent relaxing at home or going out with friends and coworkers.

So when the first night came, he was not looking forward to it. He packed lunch and dinner but wanted neither, and when his coworkers began to leave, he couldn’t help but feel a slight emptiness as his more experienced coworkers sorrowfully waved to him on their walk towards the elevator, smiling as though saying “I’m sorry it had to be you this time.” Soon, the workplace was quiet and empty and very eerie, Hinata picking up on noises he had never quite heard before: the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead; the quiet click of the air conditioner, on and off and on and off. Hinata grew tired of these sounds and sick of the feeling of his desk chair slightly brushing against his lower back so he headed towards the bathroom, hoping to blow off some steam on the way there and shake the fidgets from his legs. It was on his way to the bathroom, passing through the small hallway and bursting through the door into the office break room, that Hinata caught sight of a person he had thought he would never see again.

There stood Kageyama Tobio in all his glory, barely taller but far less lanky, eyes tired and distracted and then suddenly _wide open_ , too occupied with thought to allow his lips to part. He was halfway in the fridge, hand reaching for some kind of drink, clad in the all-too-familiar white shirt and dress pants that Hinata dressed himself up in every morning. Hinata froze, unprepared. Unsure of what to say as the door closed naturally behind him with a near-silent click. Hinata was all too mad and upset and nostalgic and full of love, fire burning through his veins and feeding into his ever-increasing heartbeat as he finally allowed some of the energy contained within him to spill out.

“Hi,” The word was simple but it was a _greeting, I am greeting Kageyama for the first time in over five years_ and Kageyama felt some of his own tension melt, closing the fridge door and turning to face Hinata.

“H-hey.” He stuttered around his own tongue and Hinata felt his heart swell with fondness because he was the _same_ , just a little bigger and a little deeper, and Hinata felt his nerves spike a little.

“So, you work here?” Hinata forced a chuckle and Kageyama nodded fidgeting with his drink.

“Yeah. Advertising.” Hinata nodded in return and pouted his lips a little, playing with the door handle.

“Nice, nice. I’m in media.” Kageyama hummed in acknowledgment and then everything was quiet, the silence uncomfortable to Hinata as he kept opening and closing the door behind him, leaning on its frame and continually rocking up onto the toes of his feet in anxiety. Hinata broke the quiet.

“So—”

“Hinata.” He stilled at the use of his family name, but was almost somewhat grateful for the comfortable distance it put between them. He looked up and Kageyama was looking at him and those same little gears were turning, and Hinata was listening, he really was. Kageyama’s eyes were looking into him, begging for some sort of compromise, and Hinata was willing to give it.

“Kageyama, I’m sorry.” Hinata sighed and ran his hand through his hair, taking his gaze off Kageyama and directing it towards the bathroom door. “I should have thought before I spoke: you _did_ know me back then—and to be honest, you still do, I really haven’t changed all that much.” He laughed softly and gulped when he noticed Kageyama’s eyes were still on him, serious and intentional.

“Hinata, you don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry for not speaking, I’m sorry for overreacting and not communicating or staying with you when you needed me.” He paused, as though thinking something over. “You were my best friend. Can we go back to that?” His face flushed in embarrassment and Hinata would’ve chuckled but he held it in, nodding strongly and smiling softly.

“Yeah, I’d like that very much.”

They spent the rest of the night talking while they worked, Kageyama temporarily moving his materials into Hinata’s cubicle and working from his laptop. Hinata was still a little mad, still a little upset with the years of frustration Kageyama had caused, that first year after the fight when his loneliness plagued him and weighed his bones down heavy. Every tear he had shed in the shower the nights he would come home from school, after not speaking on the bus and walking home down separate streets. _Do you know what it feels like to have someone you care about take the longer route home, just to avoid speaking with you?_ He wanted to ask as he watched Kageyama type away on his laptop, zoning out while he talked about college. But then Kageyama would smile, and he would bring up something from childhood, and Hinata would exhale soft laughter through his nose.

Hinata arrived at work the next day hoping to bump into Kageyama, and he did; right as they were walking out the door at the end of the day, all because Hinata had chosen to take the stairs instead of the elevator. _Of course Tobio takes the stairs_, Hinata thought as they pushed open the emergency exit door, whose alarm had broken long ago, purpose demoted to a secondary exit closer to the parking lot. Kageyama offered Hinata a ride back and he took it because _WOW, he has a car_ —and they talked the whole way back, opening up more. Soft chuckles melting into laughs and Kageyama accidentally calling him _Shoyo_ and apologizing and Hinata making him take his apology back because he _missed_ it; missed feeling this close to someone, missed feeling this close to _Kageyama Tobio_ , to his best friend and one of the only people he’d ever truly loved. He looked out the window and watched as the evening sun doused everything in a rich yellow: the door finally opening again, Kageyama’s little head peeking out on the other side.

When the second overtime night had rolled around, their laughs had grown into something monstrous and _known_. They were talking about all their old memories together, Hinata on the floor and nearly doubled over as Kageyama tried to stand up on his desk to explain something, legs wobbling like a baby deer and Hinata was cackling as Kageyama tried to quiet him down: “Shut up, this is serious! You dumb idiot.” But his own lips were squiggling into a smile that he was failing to hide, and Hinata was _really laughing_ now because nothing’s changed. Kageyama is the same as he always was, all cold and warm and sturdy and unsteady, all at once. They were goofing around and Hinata was trying to jump through his leg like a jump rope, holding his foot by the toe of his work shoe and concentrating so _hard_ while simultaneously telling Kageyama to “stop telling me I’m gonna hurt myself, I’ve done it once and I can do it again”, when they were suddenly interrupted by the ding of the elevator from the main hallway and _what time was it_ because that was certainly the janitor coming up. Hinata and Kageyama locked eyes and Hinata nearly chuckled as Kageyama grabbed his wrist and quickly dragged him down the hallway; his feet always stumbled behind Kageyama’s, giggling and drunk off conversation because everything felt so _natural_ and he just wasn’t ready to go back to his apartment. He didn’t know what time it was, or what day it was, only that Kageyama was opening a closet door and shoving them in there and Hinata was practically giddy as they closed it behind them and settled down onto the floor, Hinata trying not to laugh too loud in the humor of potentially getting caught. He looked up at Kageyama and—

His face was full of something indescribable, some undocumented emotion running free over the glossiness of his eyes, settling on his parted lips in a soft white haze. Hinata’s heartbeat skipped at the sight of the familiar glow and he looked down, eyes met with the soft buzz of white light through the thin fabric of his work shirt, a sight he hadn’t witnessed in years: in all the commotion, he had forgotten to take his medication. Soft and complicated nostalgia ran through his body for a brief second at the sight until Hinata felt reality bury into him like a dagger, panic settling into his chest as he covered his mouth and felt his breathing pick up pace _drastically_. This was it, the one thing he had been told all his life to avoid was finally happening, and he had really thought it wouldn’t happen this early because _I’ve been so careful_ : he thought he would slip up in old age or maybe even make it to his deathbed, especially after he started medicating—not caught at the ripe age of _twenty-three_. Guilt, fear and disappointment melted his elation into distress as he looked up at Kageyama, eyes wide and scared and pleading and vulnerable, like a deer caught in the searchlight.

Kageyama was still unreadable, lips parted in thought, and the indescribable look in his eyes Hinata had learned to love him for was now plaguing him like a splinter in his side, too small to dig out and too painful to ignore. Far beneath all the commotion, like the sturdy river beneath sky and canyon, one phrase slipped out from between Kageyama’s lips:

“It’s okay.”

The cogs of Hinata’s brain stilled as his eyes darted worriedly across Kageyama’s features: _What?_ And before Hinata could run his mind any farther, Kageyama’s delicate hands were reaching up and undoing the buttons of his own dress shirt, eyes focused on the task at hand. Hinata didn’t move, Hinata didn’t breathe as the fabric of Kageyama’s shirt slipped ever so slightly off his shoulder, the rough outline of worn bandages lit silver in the faint glow of Hinata’s own skin. His eyes were glued to the motion, unaware of anything but the movement of Kageyama’s fingers gently peeling away the wrapping as though folding back a bedsheet, small specks of light appearing like dewdrops as each layer of bandage was peeled away and discarded. Hinata sat incredibly still, his heart hammering in his chest like a bird in the cage because Kageyama _understood_. And there were so many more—Hinata nearly gasped at the sheer amount of stars scattered across Kageyama’s skin: stretching up his chest, over his delicate shoulders and even splayed across the top of his back, countless stars crammed into a nebula of indistinct shape. A few tiny pearls of light climbed up his neck like ivy, and some cascaded down his chest onto his upper stomach as thought the weight of gravity had pulled them down over time, a gentle afterthought.

Hinata felt like a brave idiot all at once, star-struck and rendered silent and looking back on all their years together thinking _How did I never notice? How was I never able to guess?_ His hands moved on their own as he took the time to tentatively unbutton his shirt, his own lights slowly becoming less muffled by the cotton stitching. The shapes that had grown so familiar to Hinata—a part of his body just as much as his lips or his fingernails—were nearly foreign to Kageyama: strange shapes he did not think stars could form, small but highly characteristic and like nothing he had ever seen before. They both looked up at the same time, unintentionally locking eyes and Hinata couldn’t register the emotions he was feeling from reconnecting with his best friend, let alone begin to _describe_ what he was feeling during this interaction. His only anchor in this all was their shared understanding, the warm complexity woven deep into Kageyama’s eyes, loosening his brow; both familiar and all too new.

“Can I?” Kageyama’s lips moved soft and simple, still gracefully parted as he fiddled with his hands and Hinata felt like he could go insane because no one had ever come close to remotely touching these marks other than his own mother and little sister, and Hinata looked down at Kageyama’s anxious hands fidgeting in his lap and felt nervous. And comfortable. And elated. A wide array of emotions flowed through his chest and down to his fingertips, warm and full of blood, his pulse echoing throughout calloused fingerprints as though he had just climbed across the monkey bars at their old school playground. Hinata could only nod, inching forward as Kageyama followed his lead, scooting forward until they directly faced one another. Their knees bumped; Kageyama’s hand was quickly rubbing over Hinata’s knee right where they had touched, fearing a bruise, and Hinata placed his own hand on Kageyama’s knee, mirroring the action over the smooth stitching of his dress pants. Kageyama reached out his other hand and lightly touched Hinata’s chest, quickly pulling back because _something happened_.

Hinata felt a shift inside himself, like a hiccup in his heartbeat, the warm tongue of a flame reaching out and sweetly caressing the inside of his gut. Kageyama reflexively leaned back and covered his mouth with his hand because _that star just turned orange. Did that star really just turn orange?_ The glow was sweet and soft against the sharp white light of the other stars; ripe like fruit from the tree, thick-skinned and sweet. Hinata gasped quietly and threw his hands up in the air and they just hung there, suspended on either side of his head in surprise, fingers wriggling slightly and unsure of where to settle because he was looking down at his own chest and for the first time in his life, it looked different. The singular orange star shined lone on his skin, like a beacon in the dead of night, and Hinata moved his hand down towards his chest but didn’t dare touch, scared that he would will it away; he resorted to letting the textured skin of his own hand glow in its warm light, reveling in the sudden change and swell of feeling within him, as though he were growing within the boundaries of his own skin.

He looked up at Kageyama, experience-hungry eyes asking for more. Before Kageyama could register what Hinata was feeling, Hinata had quickly grabbed Kageyama’s wrist and was holding his palm flat against his chest, long fingers sprawled out over his skin, covering each mark. Kageyama gulped and gazed up at Hinata, eyes blown wide full of worry because he wasn’t sure if Hinata understood just how _fragile_ these explorations were: Kageyama knew nothing about this, and Kageyama knew a lot about their situation. But Hinata’s eyes were closed in bliss, and his lips sat gentle and lax just above his little chin, air passing through them and into his lungs. The only word running through Kageyama’s mind, dragged up through the dirt of the earth and into the heavens above, was _Shoyo. Shoyo Shoyo Shoyo Shoyo Shoyo Shoyo_ , like it was the only word he’d ever learned. Kageyama hadn’t realized just how warm Hinata was until Hinata took a deep breath and finally lifted his hand off his chest, palm cold in the absence of his skin beneath his touch. Each little pinprick of a light had grown into that orange hue, soft highlights of yellow and red flowing beneath the skin like the pulse of magma beneath cooled rock. It was all so unmistakably Hinata, and Kageyama couldn’t help his heart, which swelled in love and fondness.

And Hinata was softly asking for permission and gazing over Kageyama’s upper body like it was a question waiting to be answered; he was reaching out and letting his fingertips, his palms, even the pulse of his wrists run over the expanse of Kageyama’s chest and collarbones and shoulders. Kageyama watched as each speck of light erupted into a deep blue flame and felt it rising up within him, like some deep fire that just kept growing and growing and he suddenly understood because he felt so _free_. Hinata watched as his expression changed, opening up to make room for more emotions as his hands travelled around to his upper back, not wanting to miss a spot. He was so much closer to Kageyama now, he could feel his breath brushing against the top of his scalp; Hinata subconsciously moved forward and placed a tentative kiss on one of the larger lights in the center of Kageyama’s chest, his vocabulary not large enough to tell him how much he cared for him, how much he loved him.

Kageyama’s head was fuzzy and spinning and _did the mark Hinata kissed just turn purple?_ Everything felt comfortably warm and closed in around his body, Hinata’s arms wrapping around him and up between his shoulderblades, his hand gently petting the back of his neck as his fingers pushed through the soft baby hairs at the base of his skull. Each gentle kiss across his chest and collarbones was prefaced with one kind word, barely counting as a whisper— _“Tobio”_ —and everything suddenly dawned on him at once: Kageyama was being seen, seen as himself and himself only. He could never be named as anything else.

_I am going to live_. The thought burned straight through his mind like a white-hot bullet, down the length of his spine and buried deep into his heart, blossoming into his chest and lungs; the unprescribable antidote that came in the form of a name— _my own name_ , Kageyama thought as he tucked his hand softly beneath Hinata’s chin and lifted his head up to look into his eyes. Those eyes that had looked at him with the same love each time he scraped a knee on the pavement, each time he spotted him as he climbed the rickety ladder of the treehouse and stumbled on the sidewalk on their way home from school: those eyes that had begged for understanding in the quiet privacy of the moonlit bathroom; constantly holding his life protectively within the cup of his own hands like a butterfly newly escaped from the cocoon, just needing to be carried down the hallway and out the back door and coaxed into flight. Kageyama had tried to pry those hands open, tried to will it into flight without proper research; no understanding, no patience. Hinata had opened the door Kageyama had closed, and Kageyama loved him for it. Hinata was tentatively inching forward and Kageyama was drawn to him like a moth to the lamp, only wanting him closer, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him in until their foreheads tapped.

And then their lips were touching, just barely ghosting over eachother. Hinata felt as though had been shrunk down to one small cell, wedged right between him and Kageyama; it felt like every part of his own body was wrapped around his being, and every part of Kageyama was entwined with him. Kageyama whispered his given name into his lips, beyond soft, lips forgoing to shape the proper vowels as they both closed the gap between them. Every fraction of life in Hinata’s body bloomed because Kageyama had taken his poison soft and gentle into his own hands and carefully crafted it into an antidote, and Hinata realized that _we’ve been doing this since the day we met_. Hinata was home, sitting on the damaged curb by their mailboxes, criss-cross applesauce on the creaky wooden floor of their neighbourhood treehouse that could’ve collapsed beneath them with the slightest misstep; but Hinata always knew where and how to step when it was with Kageyama. His mind went back to that party all those years ago and he refused his urge to castigate himself, refused to waste breath on an apology that would hardly make up for lost time. Instead, Hinata kissed deeper, scrambled over his body like he could somehow crawl _into_ him, fingernails lovingly running down from the back of his shoulders as though they were softly scraping off some top layer of skin.

Hinata’s eyes slipped open in all the softness, and they widened and he gasped through his nose as he separated from Kageyama, removing his hands from his skin as he would from the hot surface of a stove. Kageyama’s eyes shot open and he initially worried he had done something wrong, or stepped too far, but was immediately snapped out of this when his eyes settled over his own chest. The stars were no longer just deep blue with splashes of purple, but a whole spectrum of light and color: indigo, violet; pinks and lavenders crawling towards his neck, a splash of aqua and even the tamest hint of green down towards his gut, all backed by the deep blue that pervaded him from the start. Hinata gasped again, drawing Kageyama’s attention up and across his chest as he watched Hinata run his hands softly over his own lights, not only orange but red, yellow, pink and even purple towards the outer edges of the swirls. Both of their lights were twinkling, changing in color and hue and intensity of light. Hinata’s gaze snapped up to connect with Kageyama’s and they were both wild, eyes blown wide with the excitement of discovery and the fear of the unknown: this was something new, this was something larger than themselves—this molded life from death like wet clay in the hands. Hinata swallowed around a dry throat, a familiar sensation displaced into an unfamiliar landscape, and Kageyama was drawn back into reality like a needle plucked from the haystack. His lips formed around the only words he could honestly speak:

“We have to do something.” 

This couldn’t be a secret anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT I THRIVE OFF HUMAN INTERACTION :,,)
> 
> also I just reallyreallyreally wanna know what ya think
> 
> P.S. if anything is confusing, leave a comment, ask me anything!!! I love answering questions and love knowing what others are thinking/feeling!!!


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